Hostage
by Deltree
Summary: Christophe has always kept his life as 'ze Mole' separate from his life in South Park. But now his latest client has kidnapped Kyle and things are getting serious. Christophe/Kyle slash
1. Prologue: Christophe POV

Title: Hostage

Title: Hostage

Pairing: Christophe/Kyle

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park or the characters.

Warnings: Slash, violence, language.

Summary: Christophe has always kept his life as the Mole separate from his life in South Park. But now they have Kyle and things are getting serious.

* * *

Prologue: Christophe POV

I have known Kyle for almost twelve years now, since I was nine years old and his mother had started a war with Canada. He and his friends had started a revolution and had needed help.

I died in his arms.

You remember a thing like that. The last person you see before you go. It doesn't matter if you're back in your room, alive and confused, a second later. You remember a thing like that.

I did, at least. And it made for an interesting second meeting when my mother sent me off to high school and, one year later, he was in the class below me.

I remember stopping in the middle of the school hallway, staring. He had changed. He looked good. Taller, but still short, and with this curly red hair.

He had been shocked to see me and wouldn't approach, so I did. And, flash forward four years later, he's my boyfriend and we're living together in a small one bedroom apartment five minutes from the college we both attend. To pay the rent, I work as the Mole and he has a job working for the college.

And honestly? I've never been happier.

Of course, things can never be too good for too long. I was recently contacted by this organization. They were called the White Dove.

Stupid name, I know. I laughed. It's not so funny now.

They wanted me to retrieve this mystery package from this other organization in China. They wouldn't tell me what it was and the organization was rather shady in nature.

Kyle would never let me live if this mystery package was something harmful.

I said no.

Unfortunately, they didn't like this answer.

I've always tried to keep my work as the Mole separate from my life in South Park. Always tried to protect Kyle from the dangers of my work. And I have always been successful.

I wasn't this time.

They now have Kyle.

I will get him back.

TBC?


	2. Ch 1: Deal or No Deal

Title: Hostage

Title: Hostage

Pairing: Christophe/Kyle

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park or the characters.

Warnings: Slash, violence, language.

Summary: Christophe had always kept his life as 'ze Mole' separate from his life in South Park. But now they have Kyle and things are getting serious.

AN: And I wanted to say thank you to all those that reviewed. I got a lot of complaints and suggestions about the Prologue and the accent so I went back and changed it. Hopefully you like this chapter better.

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Chapter #1: Deal or No Deal

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"Dude, Christophe, it's your turn to do the dishes," Kyle said upon entering their apartment to find Christophe seated on the couch watching TV, the dishes not done. Still not exactly the tallest boy around, Kyle _had_ gained some height since the fourth grade. He now came up to almost Christophe's chin. His Jew-fro had also calmed considerably and his red hair now hung in curls in front of his green eyes. His skin was smooth, spotted in freckles, and the awkwardness of puberty had left leaving him lithe and graceful. "I'm not your maid," he continued irritably, "and my mom's coming over in half an hour."

"I did zem last week," Chritophe replied easily, busy clicking through the channels. Christophe himself had shot up to a nice 6'1' but still otherwise looked the same. Same dark brown hair, same almost golden brown eyes, and still a chain smoker, but puberty had left him with some rather persistent stubble that would not leave his face.

"No you didn't," Kyle said, looking irritated at Christophe's inability to remember, "You were in Australia last week, remember? There was that thing with the daughter of that guy?"

"No." Christophe was sure and shook his head, eyes still glued on the screen. "Zat was ze week before."

"No, it wasn't. That was last week. I remember 'cause I had that Chem. test that week, remember? The one I nearly died studying for?" A dark expression crossing his face, Kyle muttered, to no one really, "I hate Chem."

But Christophe was looking like he might just remember this, finally turning to face him. "An' you nearly kicked me out of ze apartment when I left?"

Kyle looked properly embarrassed. "Well I was angry."

"Yes," Christophe said dryly, giving him a droll look, "I remember."

"Oh shut up," Kyle said mildly before going over to their couch to begin tidying things up, ignoring the fact that Christophe was blocking his way, "Like you always get angry over important things," he said, bending over to pick the couch pillows up from where Christophe had thrown them on the floor and put them back on the couch.

"When was ze last time I got _zat_ upset over a mere test?" Christophe asked, eyes following his movements but not helping in the least.

Kyle snorted, gently fixing the position of the pillows so they were lying perfectly aligned. "When was the last time you actually _studied_ for a test?"

"I studied for zat French Revolution test two weeks ago," Christophe protested.

"Only because it was about France," Kyle said, not looking at him as he leaned over and started to pick up the stray bits of paper and fast food wrappers from their coffee table. Arms full of trash, he turned to look behind him at Christophe, whose eyes quickly flicked away from watching Kyle's ass to his face, and gave him a truly irritated look. "And will you help me out here? I'm not your maid."

"Yes. So you've said," Christophe said, ignoring him and going back to the TV.

"And I'll say it again," Kyle said, clearly annoyed at this, before turning and heading for the trash can. "I'll say it as many times as I need to before it finally sinks into your fucking thick skull." He opened the trash can and let the trash he held fall into the can.

"'ey!" Flicking a glance in Kyle's direction and just noticing what he was doing, Christophe jumped up from his seat and went over there. "Wot if we needed zat stuff?"

Kyle looked at him, incredulous. "What would we need it for? It was trash."

Christophe looked serious, eyes intent on the trash can. "I think I 'ad my notes from my last mission in zere."

"What?" Kyle turned to look at the trash can. "Why would you keep those in a pile of trash?"

"Zat was not trash," Christophe said as he came closer and began to paw through the trash. "Zat was my lunch."

Kyle turned to look at him but didn't look sorry. "You were done with it. It was trash."

Christophe made a derisive noise in the back of his throat but didn't look up from his search.

"Can't you just write new notes?" Kyle asked, looking annoyed as Christophe kept searching. "Don't you have them all typed up somewhere? Why aren't they on your computer?"

Christophe shot him an irritated look at the questions but said nothing and went back to the trash. Finally he found what he was looking for. Pulling it out, Christophe brushed away stray bits of chip and then looked around for something to clean off the ketchup stain. Putting his notes down on the kitchen counter, he gently dabbed at the ketchup with a napkin.

Kyle made a face at the paper. "It's dirty. Make a new one."

Christophe shook his head, focused on his task. "I only need ze one."

"But it's dirty."

Christophe shot him a silencing look. "An' whose fault was zat?"

"Yours," Kyle said bluntly and then turned and went back into the living room. "Now come on. You have to help me clean. My mom's coming over in a little bit."

Christophe shook his head again, carefully folding his notes and putting them in his back pocket. "I still 'ave some work to do."

"What work?" Kyle asked, turning to him with an obviously disbelieving look on his face. "You were just watching TV."

"I was taking a break," Christophe said, leaning against the kitchen counter as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at Kyle. "I have a meeting wit' a possible client in 'alf an 'our."

Kyle looked curious. "Where's the meeting?"

Christophe shot him a warning look. "You know I cannot tell you zat."

"Fine," Kyle said, letting it go and turning away to bend over to pick up some stray trash from the floor, "Just asking. When do you need to leave?" Looking back up at Christophe as he asked.

Christophe looked at his watch before answering, "Fifteen minutes."

"Then do you think you could finish up the dishes before you go? It's still your turn."

"Oui," Christophe said, smiling as he approached and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Kyle's lips. "Just for you, mon chéri."

Pushing him away, Kyle rolled his eyes and went to clean off the top of the TV.

--

Christophe studied the faces of the three men seated across from him at the table. They were seated at the local Raisins and had finally gotten down to business after the leader had gotten his requested buffalo wings.

"An' zis uzzer organization," Christophe began, narrowing his eyes at the men with a serious frown, "zis one in China—Wot is zere name?" From the moment he had entered the restaurant and seen his contacts he had been having a bad feeling. His research had told him they were from a charity organization but something about these men didn't sit quite right with him. Maybe it was the dark clothes and dark appearances; maybe it was the way they had found the only shady corner in the restaurant to sit in, Christophe didn't know what it was but something about them was wrong. The Raisins girls only fueled his suspicions. They had been giving their table a wide berth the entire night.

"We can't tell you that," the man to the right said, scowling. The man himself was unkempt with a few days worth of stubble accumulated on his face. His clothes were dark but clearly expensive and at odds with his rough appearance. "We're not at liberty to say," he continued with a dark expression, "I'm sure you understand."

"Then zis package," Christophe tried, "Can you tell me wot it is, or is zat privileged information as well?"

The man on the left nodded. "I'm afraid that too is privileged." This man was the more stereotypical business man, wearing a pressed suit and tie, his hair neatly gelled back. His beady eyes stared out of his plain face and focused on Christophe as he answered.

Christophe's frown deepened. "Zen wot _can_ you tell me?"

"All we can tell you we have already told you," the scruffy man on the right said before leaning forward intently, expression intense. "And now you have to answer. Will you help us?"

"We are willing to pay quite a generous sum," the business man put in. The leader, who had not spoken the entire night other than to whisper his request for buffalo wings into the ear of the business man, still said nothing, merely watching Christophe with his expressionless eyes. To tell the truth it was quite unnerving to be the object of that blank gaze. To watch as the man neatly ate his buffalo wings and stared.

Christophe looked away to check his surroundings. No one had noticed them in the corner, the Raisins girls still giving their table a wide berth when they weren't refilling drinks. Everything seemed peaceful. A group of high-school boys sat in the middle of the restaurant, shouting boisterously at the waitresses and laughing at how supposedly clever they were. A family of four sat on the opposite side of the restaurant, the two little kids screaming and climbing all over their parents, who merely sat there and let them, smiling and looking a little frazzled around the edges. Other than that there was the lone man sitting at the counter and the restaurant was empty. It was a Tuesday night after all.

Finally Christophe looked back at the three men, who were still watching him intently. "How can I retrieve zis package for you when I don't even know wot it is?" Christophe asked, "I will not be able to find it."

"You will know what it is. It's quite clearly marked," the business man said, smiling a practiced smile.

Christophe stared at them, eyes moving from the smiling business man to the expressionless leader slowly biting into his newest buffalo wing to the scowling man on the right and thought. Did he really want to be involved in this? It was against his policy to go on any jobs that he didn't have full information on. It kept him from getting killed by any nasty surprises. Plus this all just felt wrong. He had a sneaking suspicion that what they wanted him to retrieve would not be something Kyle would approve of him getting.

"'ow much are you willing to pay?" he asked suspiciously.

"1.5 million," the business man said.

Which was a lot of money and Kyle's birthday was coming up. It would be nice to get him something special.

But that also proved just how desperate to get this package these people were. If they were willing to offer that much just to retrieve it, how much could the package itself be worth? How dangerous could it be?

Still . . . 1.5 million. It was tempting. Christophe sat back and watched the three men watch him, debating with himself. Was that much money worth it if Kyle disapproved? Kyle didn't have to find out. Christophe just had to say it was classified. Kyle would understand.

But he had also made Kyle a promise to stay safe and mostly legal and Christophe didn't go back on his promises.

Finally Christophe shook his head. "No. I cannot take zis job."

"What?" the scruffy man asked, expression darkening even further. The business man's practiced smile seemed to falter. The leader paused mid-bite, looking at him, then slowly started again, chewing sedately.

Christophe looked at them. "I don't take jobs wit' zis much unknown."

The boss paused in his eating to lean over and whisper something in the business man's ear.

"Oh," the business man said, seeming to understand and his smile strengthened again, "You want more money. How does 2 million sound?"

"No."

"2.5 then," the business man said, looking unruffled, "But I'm afraid that is our final offer."

"No," Christophe said, beginning to look annoyed. "I jus' won't do it. An' I'm afraid _zat_ is my final offer."

"Well I'm afraid you don't really have much of a choice," the scruffy man said darkly, suddenly smiling fiercely as though he had been waiting for this all night, "We wouldn't want your little boyfriend to be hurt now, would we?"

Shit. They knew about Kyle. They must have been watching him. Suddenly much more serious, Christophe jumped up from his seat and slammed his hands down on the table, scowling angrily at the scruffy man. The sound echoed in the noisy restaurant and everything froze, the high-school boys, the family of four, the lone man at the counter, and the Raisins girls all turning to stare at the four men seated in the shady corner. "What 'ave you done t' 'im?" Christophe snarled, ignoring the sudden silence.

"Oh," the scruffy man said, still smiling and looking almost demented, "Nothing yet." He brought up his arm and pulled back his coat sleeve to show Christophe his watch. "But I just push one little button and our team is ready to take him out."

Christophe stared intently at the watch and clenched his jaw. What could he do?

Seeing this, the business man smiled a smile that looked much more genuine but a lot more sadistic. "Have you changed your mind, Mr. Mole?" The leader still showed no expression, chewing his buffalo wing sedately. He was down to two now, the one in his hands and the one on his plate.

Christophe said nothing, eyes flickering from the watch, between the three men, and to the door. Could he get home in time?

Obviously sensing his thoughts, the scruffy man said, "You'll never be able to get back there in time. Why don't you just play along?"

"Yes," the business man said, still smiling that almost sadistic smile, "We don't want to cause any trouble. We just want our package. You can do that for us, can't you?"

So Christophe had been right to think that these men were up to no good. Now would he throw away all morals and help them? Kyle was in danger. Surely Kyle would understand the necessity, right?

Wouldn't he?

Thinking this, Christophe knew the answer. No, he wouldn't. Kyle wouldn't place his own life above the lives of others. And whatever these men wanted could not be good. At the very least Kyle would tell them to go to hell just for the principle of the thing.

And Christophe could probably get home in time. And he did have their security system hooked up. Nothing could get through that.

So Christophe straightened and began to smile fiercely, before saying slowly and clearly, "Go to 'ell," punching the scruffy man straight in his smug face, and bolting for the door. He needed to get home before Kyle could be hurt.

--

**Meanwhile . . .**

"Bubee!"

"Mom! Stop it!"

"But I missed you!"

"Mom!" Kyle struggled in his mom's hold, trying desperately to escape the kisses she was raining down upon his face.

"Here. Let me look at you." Finally Sheila Broflovski had finished and took a step back to take her son in, her hands still holding his arms. She obviously didn't like what she saw. "You're so thin! You're not eating. I can tell. A mother always can."

"Mom!" Kyle protested, looking embarrassed. "I'm eating just fine. Really."

"Nonsense," Sheila tutted, "Here. You go sit on the couch. I'll go make you something to eat."

"But Mom! I already ate."

"Well you obviously didn't eat enough. You're skin and bones. You need some meat on you."

Kyle sighed heavily at this, but went to go sit on the couch nevertheless, knowing it was useless to try to protest any further. Sheila went into the small kitchen and began to look through the refrigerator in search of something to cook. Not finding anything healthy there, she went on to the cupboards.

"Kyle," she finally said, now going through the last of the cupboards and still not finding anything healthy, "When was the last time you went shopping? There's barely anything but junk in here." Finally turning away from the cupboards, she turned to her son and gave him a look.

Kyle shifted on the couch uneasily. He _knew_ there was something he should have done before she came over. "Um . . ."

"Don't 'um' me, young man. You haven't been eating this junk, have you?" By her tone it was clear that he had better say no or he was in for it.

"I've just been really busy with school lately and haven't had the time to go shopping," Kyle said, looking up at his mom, wanting her to believe him and not make this into some huge deal. "And Christophe's been really busy with his job so he hasn't really had the time to go either."

"Oh," Sheila said, sounding disapproving, "That boy. It's him, isn't it?"

"Huh?" Kyle looked confused.

"That Christophe," his mom clarified. "He's the reason you're so unhealthy. Why if you were still living at home this never would've happened."

"Mom."

"Now you know I have no problem with the fact that you want to live on your own. It shows independence which is good. But you know a good Jewish girl would be able to take _care_ of you."

"Mom. I don't need taking care of."

Sheila ignored him, like always. "That Christophe boy. He's always running off on his dangerous missions and whatnot. Always leaving you here home alone. Don't you want someone that would stay with you and take care of you?"

"No, Mom," Kyle said, starting to sound irritated. They seemed to get into this fight every time they saw each other nowadays. "I love Christophe."

"But you could love a good Jewish girl just as much. If not more!"

"Mom. I don't think so. Besides," he said, "I don't even _know_ any good Jewish girls." And that was a mistake.

Sheila looked excited and came closer to sit down on the couch with him. "Oh I met one the other day. Her name is Kathy and she's just the sweetest thing. You'll love her."

"Mom," Kyle said, sounding exasperated. "I'm not going to break up with Christophe. Really. I'm not."

"But if you'd just give Kathy a try. I'm sure you would be happy."

"I'm happy right now," Kyle tried to tell her, but she wasn't listening again. She was staring off into space with a dreamy expression.

"We could have the wedding down by Starks Pond in the summer time. And there would be flowers and music and you would look so _handsome_ in your little tuxedo. And then there would be grandchildren and—

"Mom!" Kyle interrupted. "I'm _gay_. I'm dating a _guy_. I'm in _love _with a guy. There will be no grandchildren unless I someday decide to adopt. Go bug Ike if you really want them so much."

Sheila turned to him earnestly. "But that can be fixed. If you'd only just go on one date with this girl."

"Mom. I don't _want_ it to be fixed. I'm happy. Why can't you understand that?"

"Oh Kyle. You're so young. You don't know what you want."

Kyle stared at his mom disbelievingly. Had she really just said that? Did she hear how condescending she sounded?

Sheila continued, looking at him in concern, "I just don't want you to mess up your life permanently because of some little phase."

Kyle sighed. "Christophe is not some phase, Mom. We've been together for three and a half years."

"So it's been a long phase. That doesn't mean you can't still break out of it. Why I remember when your father was young. He had this long hair, down to his shoulders. I kept telling him to cut it, but he just wouldn't. He loved that hair. But it was just a phase and he finally grew out of it."

"Christophe is not hair!"

"Oh I know that, bubee, and I'm sure he has . . ." Sheila trailed off uncertainly before going back to what she was saying, "well . . . I'm sure he has at least _one _good quality." Kyle covered his face with a hand. She just couldn't give Christophe any credit at all, could she? "But the point is," Sheila continued, "that just because he has that one good quality that doesn't mean you should give up your life for him."

"Okay, first of all, Christophe has more than one good quality. He has a lot of good qualities. You just don't want to see them. And secondly, I'm not giving up my life for him. I still have a perfectly fine life."

"How?" Sheila demanded, "Look at you! You're unhealthy. You're alone almost all of the time."

"No I'm not!"

"That boy is always leaving you here alone to satisfy that crazy adrenaline addiction of his. And he smokes, Kyle. Smokes! You'll die of lung cancer by the time you're thirty if you stay with him."

"He goes away for his _job_," Kyle countered, "a job he loves and does well at, and he doesn't smoke around me. He's very careful about that." Kyle was trying to stay patient but it was getting hard. He knew his mom was only like this because she cared and that was the only reason he put up with it and continued to see her.

"This apartment smells of smoke," Sheila said, not giving up. Then she looked suspicious. "_You're_ not smoking, are you, Kyle?"

"No!" Kyle denied.

"Because if you are I—

"I'm not smoking, Mom," Kyle said, "I don't have a death wish." Because he would die if his mom ever found out. Long before the lung cancer could set in.

"Well, you'd better not be, young man. Because if I ever find out you—

"Wait, Mom," Kyle interrupted, thinking he'd heard something, "Be quiet." He tilted his head and tried to listen.

"Don't tell me to be quiet!" Sheila said angrily. "Why I should—

"No, Mom. Really," Kyle interrupted again. "Don't you hear that?" It was a soft clicking sound. Click-Click-Click-Thud-Click

"That clicking sound?" his mom asked, hearing it now.

"Yeah. What do you think it is?"

Sheila waved it off, not thinking anything of it. "Probably the people upstairs."

"No," Kyle said slowly, "I think it's coming from the front door." Click-Click-Click-Thud-Click. He frowned and looked over at the door. What _was _that?

Click-Click-Thud and then an unnerving silence. Deciding to see what it was, Kyle stood up.

"Kyle?" Sheila asked, obviously wondering what he was up to.

"Shh," he said, waving a hand at her to be silent, "I'm gonna go see what that is." Sheila nodded understandingly and watched him move.

Something telling him to be cautious, Kyle moved for the front door slowly, step by step. Finally, he reached it and reached out a hand to the doorknob. He turned it slowly then paused at the last bit and suddenly flung open the door. Nothing was there.

"What is it?" his mom asked, having followed him out into the foyer.

He turned to answer her with a shrug. "Nothing. Must have been—

"Kyle!" Sheila screeched and Kyle felt himself be grabbed. An arm wrapped tightly around his waist, a hand roughly covering his mouth, he was yanked back against a warm body. Starting to struggle, the arms tightened around him and he was held closer.

The hand covering his mouth tilting his head, he felt the warm breath of another person on his neck and a dark voice whispered roughly in his ear, "Don't move or we kill the fat woman."

Kyle stilled, beginning to sweat. Who was this guy?

--

TBC?


	3. Ch 2: The White Dove

I wanted to say thank you for the reviews to Anonymous Void, Sarah, and Vampire Toy. Thank you! Also sorry, but this chapter is a little short.

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Chapter #2: The White Dove

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Christophe raced home on his motorcycle, breaking every known traffic law except for maybe the one about having too many people in one car. Getting to his apartment building, he raced inside and pressed the elevator button, waiting impatiently for a second or two before deciding that it was taking too long and racing for the side door and up the stairs. Three floors later, he got to his door and stopped dead. The door was wide open and some strange man dressed all in black was holding Kyle hostage in the middle of it.

"Now I'm going to move back slowly," Christophe heard the man say, "And I don't want any funny business, do you hear me? You try anything and she dies."

"Kyle!" Sheila shrieked, looking frightened for her son, but thankfully staying where she was.

"You're not even anywhere near her," Kyle said then grunted in pain when the man's grip apparently tightened on him threateningly.

"Shut up."

"Kyle!" Sheila shrieked again. "You let him go!" she screamed at the man.

The man ignored her.

Slowly, Christophe moved forward, planning on making his move quickly and silently. The faint sound of movement was his only warning before something came down on his head. Ducking out of the way at the last moment, Christophe whirled to face the new arrival, another man dressed all in black, ski mask over his head.

The man in the door, obviously hearing the motion behind him, turned sideways in the door to face both Christophe and Sheila, careful not to show anyone his back.

"Christophe!" Kyle said, obviously seeing his boyfriend and sounding relieved. Then he grunted again as the grip around him tightened once more in warning.

Keeping both men in black in his sight, Christophe didn't respond, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men, watching carefully for any sudden movements.

"So you've finally managed to join us," the first man said and Christophe could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Give 'im back before I 'urt you," Chritophe said lowly, his eyes narrowing at the man.

The man chuckled. "Oh I don't think so. You're not exactly in the position to issue any threats, Mr. Mole."

"You let my son go right now, young man, or I'm calling the police!"

Both men ignored the frightened woman.

"I said give 'im back," Christophe repeated, some anger seeping into his voice.

"That's it! I'm calling the police!" Sheila ran to the phone, just lifting up the hand piece to her ear when a knife flew through the room to stick right in the phone's base. Sheila screamed and jumped back, dropping the phone on the ground. Looking over she saw that it had been the second man in black who had thrown the knife, his hand still in the final position of the throw. "You watch where you're throwing those things!" she shrieked. "You could've hurt someone!"

"I don't think I will," the first man in black said, ignoring the byplay. He looked down at his hostage, lifting one hand to trail a finger along Kyle's jaw. "I've take a liking to Mr. Broflovski here and I think I might just take him home with me." He looked back up at Christophe and smiled. "Like a pet."

Christophe growled. He couldn't fight the man while he was holding Kyle so close, but he couldn't let Kyle just be taken either. He wished he'd gotten here sooner. "What do you want?"

"I don't want anything," the man said, "But my employers—they want your expertise."

Not having anything else he could do, Christophe's eyes narrowed further. "An' if I said I would 'elp?"

"Then I'm afraid we would still take your little boyfriend here hostage for safe-keeping, but you'd have a much better chance of getting him back alive."

Hearing that, Christophe's jaw clenched in anger. There wasn't much he could do then, was there? He needed Kyle to be alive if he was going to save him. Stepping back, Christophe stood up straight and regarded the man in black seriously. "Zen tell your employers zat I accept."

"Wonderful." The man smiled evilly. "Expect to hear from them by tomorrow." That said, he nodded at the second man, jerking his head to the right, and the two of them left unhindered.

"You – you – " Sheila turned on him, sputtering in rage, "you just let them go!" Sheila shrieked, regaining her voice. "They took my bubee and you just let them go!"

Christophe turned to her with a serious frown. "Did I 'ave a choice?" He didn't like the fact that they had Kyle either, but what else could he have done? If he hadn't agreed they would have just taken Kyle anyway and had him killed.

"Of course you had a choice!" Sheila shouted, "Why didn't you fight them?! That's what you're good for, isn't it?!"

"If I 'ad fought zem Kyle would 'ave been 'urt," Christophe told her.

Sheila didn't have anything she could say to that—it was true and she didn't want anything to happen to her baby—so she changed the subject. "Then are you going to get him back?!" she shouted.

"Of course," Christophe said absently, already half ignoring her as he walked over to where he had set up his laptop, opening it up and turning it on.  
"Then what are you still doing here?!" Sheila screamed, "Go get him!" she ordered, pointing in the direction the men had gone.

Christophe barely spared her a look, merely raising a brow at her hysterics and quickly turning back to his work. The computer had finished turning on and he was busy putting in his passwords, working his way past his computer's security. He needed to do a little more research into this company he was getting involved in before doing anything else. Today had shown him what a lack of in-depth research resulted in.

"I said go get him!" Sheila shrieked, pointing once more, more urgently this time, in the direction the men had gone.

"Mrs. Broflovski," Christophe said, not turning away from his computer, "Zere is nothing you can do 'ere. I suggest you go 'ome."

"I'm not leaving here without Kyle!"

Now Christophe turned to her seriously. "I will do everzing I can to bring 'im back. But I cannot zink wit' you screaming at me. You need to calm down an' go 'ome."

"Oh no, I'm not calming down! Not for you! This is all your fault! If you weren't such an adrenaline junkie my Kyle wouldn't be in the hands of those men right now! Lord knows what they're doing with him!" Sheila obviously got lost in the thoughts of what could be happening to her son right now and her eyes widened, hands clasped over her breast. "Oh my poor bubee!"

Meanwhile, Christophe had rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. He'd gotten past his security and had started pulling up files on the organization that had just kidnapped Kyle.

Sheila snapped out of her visions. "You need to go get him before they do something horrible!"

Christophe frowned at his findings. Nothing here suggested they were anything other than a charity organization. No matter how deep he went. He guessed there was no more putting it off. He needed to contact Gregory. He just didn't have the expertise for the information he needed.

"Are you listening to me?!" Sheila shrieked in the background.

The phone was pretty much dead, the knife still stuck in it, but he wouldn't have used that anyway. He had made sure it was secure, but it wasn't secure enough. He got out his cell phone.

"Christophe! You listen to me, young man! Right now!"

Gregory answered on the second ring. "What do you need?" he asked, getting right to business.

"Everything you have on the organization the White Dove," Christophe answered, still browsing through the files he had open on his computer with one hand.

"The White Dove," Gregory repeated and then there was silence as Gregory went to work on his computer. Finally after a long few moments, he said, "Ah. Here it is. The White Dove, named as a charity organization, is actually the cover organization for the Alexander Company."

"Weapons dealer?" Christophe asked.

"Most likely some drugs on the side," Gregory replied. "I'm sending you their information."

"Good," Christophe said and then hung up, sticking his cell phone back in one of his many pockets. Opening up his e-mail, he found the information and opened up the file. He read it quickly and his frown deepened with each deed listed. The Alexander Company was apparently rather powerful, but very tiny and very secretive, having ties to even the President and other important figures in politics. They were the ones behind the ones behind those in government positions. Why hadn't he known this? It was his business to know these kinds of things.

"Christophe!" All other calls falling on obviously deaf ears, Sheila had resorted to just screaming his name repeatedly, hoping he would answer to at least one.

Having heard her each time, Christophe grit his teeth in frustration and tried to continue with his reading. He needed to stay patient with the woman. He may not like her very much, but she was Kyle's mother and so she needed to be treated with some respect.

"Christophe!"

The Alexander Company's main base was apparently located somewhere in Peru, but the more specific location was unknown. Great. That meant he would have to wait until they contacted him and gave him their whereabouts before he could rescue Kyle. He would need to make plans.

"Christophe!"

The head of their organization's name was Timothy Alexander, a man who had taken a small collection of his family out of the rural outskirts of Kentucky and started his own organization from the ground up.

"Christophe!"

They hadn't been taken seriously at first as they were seen as nothing but crazy country bumpkins with dreams of power, but then they had had the daughter of a powerful organization in China assassinated.

"Christophe!"

The Chinese organization hadn't been pleased with this and the two organizations had been at war ever since. The most recent attack was when the Chinese had interrupted a weapons deal in New York, kidnapping various Alexander Company members and taking a good deal of the merchandise. Was that what they wanted returned?

"Christophe!"

They could want a new weapon of mass destruction. America didn't need any more of those. They had quite enough as it was. And he didn't want to even think of someone in South America getting a hold of one. They had enough trouble with Asia and Eastern Europe without adding a third threat and—

"Christophe!

He couldn't take it anymore. Turning on the woman suddenly, Christophe said in a tightly controlled voice, "_Yes_, Mrs. Broflovski. Can I 'elp you wit' somezing?"

"I want you to go get my son!" she screamed. Wasn't her voice getting tired yet? She'd been screaming for a while now.

"I'm afraid zat I cannot do anyzing until zey contact me. So why don't you go 'ome now and I'll will bring 'im back?" While he was talking he had grabbed her arm and started leading her toward the door.

"I don't trust you," Sheila said, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously and finally not screaming for once. "You're the one who got him into this mess."

They'd gotten to the door and he led her out. "An' I will get 'im out," he told her calmingly. "Don't worry. Zis is what I do." Then he stepped back into the apartment and closed the door in her face. The look on her face as she realized what he was doing was almost comical.

"Christophe!" he heard her shout through the door as she pounded on it with her fists. "You slimy little French bastard! Let me in! You can't keep me out here!"

Christophe sighed. Hopefully she would get tired and go away soon. He still had some research to do. Some plans to make. Locations to guess at. Calculations to calculate. And that man had said they would be in touch with him within a day.

He hated it but he would just have to wait.

* * *

Kyle didn't go with the man in black silently. He squirmed. He wriggled. He bit. But the man didn't let go.

Still he continued to try and free himself.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Kyle screamed, trying to kick back at the man's knees or wherever he could reach with his foot. They had gotten outside, coming out behind the apartment building and apparently headed for the van that was parked a few feet away.

"Will you be quiet?" the man hissed, hurriedly slapping a hand over his mouth for the third time. Just like all the other times he had tried this, Kyle was quick to bite down on the hand and it quickly withdrew.

"Ow!" the man whined, shaking his hand.

Kyle went back to trying to kick the man, wriggling desperately in his arms as he cussed.

"You're a fucking asshole, you fucking bastard! Fuck!"

"Just knock him out!" the second man said, clearly irritated.

"I tried!" the man holding him said, "I can't let him go long enough to raise a hand. Why didn't we bring the chloroform?"

"The boss said it was too expensive," the second man explained.

"The boss is a cheap bastard."

"Let. Me. Go!" Kyle said, jerking this way and that, trying to get out of the man's strong hold. "Bastard!"

"Shh!" the second man said quickly, looking up and down the alley they were in "Don't say that where the boss could hear." They finally got to the van and the second man opened the back doors. "Just throw him in here."

The man holding him seemed to hesitate and Kyle tried to use this to his advantage by thrashing wildly in his grip. The man just shook him roughly and, blinking through the sudden daze, Kyle had to settle down for a moment. His head hurt. "Do we have anything to tie him up with?" the man asked.

"Um," the second man said, looking through the back of the van and its complete lack of stuff. "Maybe there's something in the front." He went to look, but came back shaking his head. "Nothing. Look. Just knock him unconscious. He's not struggling now."

Hearing that, Kyle got over his momentary daze and started to struggle again, but the man just shook him roughly one more time, now knowing that that would keep him mostly calm.

"You hit him," the man holding him said, holding the dazed Kyle out. "I have to let him go to hit him and I don't want to lose him."

The second man sighed, but approached nevertheless and held up a hand.

"Shit!" Kyle cussed, coming back to himself and starting to struggle again.

"Umph!" the man holding him said when one of Kyle's elbows got him in the gut, but he still didn't let go. "Hurry!"

The last thing Kyle saw was a pair of clasped hands coming down on him and then black.

He woke up tied to a chair, sitting in a rather large and empty room.

Where was he?

Shaking his head, Kyle tried to blink past the pain to see straight again. His head eventually clearing, he turned in his seat and tried to examine his binds. Rope was wrapped around him from waist to chest, holding his arms to his sides, and it was tied tightly behind his chair out of his reach. Squirming in his seat, he tried to see if he could loosen them a bit or get free. But the ropes around him were too tight. Dammit.

Stopping his wriggling, Kyle sighed and settled for just looking around the room. The barest amount of light came through the covered windows, illuminating the stone floor, the bare walls, and the complete lack of stuff in the room. It was barren.

That discovered, Kyle had a long and boring wait until finally he heard footsteps coming closer. The lights turned on and Kyle winced at the sudden light. Gradually his sight began to adjust and the man in front of him could be seen.

Kyle blinked at the sight.

"Why, hello, Mr. Broflovski."

* * *

TBC?


	4. Ch 3: A Day Spent Apart

* * *

I wanted to thank Anonymous Void again for reviewing and DiamondxPink618. Also I've never gone sky-diving and I don't know anything about Chinese geography so I'm making up anything that has to do with those two things. And, sorry, but this is really just a transitional chapter, so sorry if it's a little boring.

* * *

-

Chapter #3: A Day Spent Apart

-

"So glad you could meet us here," the man continued as though Kyle had willingly walked through the door and was not currently tied to a chair, blinking at him in confusion.

Kyle blinked again. Was he seeing this right? In front of him stood the man, dressed in khaki shorts and a godawful Hawaiian t-shirt, parrots doing obscene things among the leaves. He wore orange flip-flops and sunglasses too big for his head to complete the look and, standing in front of a number of what were clearly mafia thugs, he just generally looked like a random tourist that had wandered into the building by mistake. All he needed was the straw hat and camera and the outfit would have been complete.

"I see you've noticed my clothes," the man said calmly, gesturing at his outfit. "I'm afraid you've taken me away from my vacation quite suddenly. I was just recently informed that we were to have a visitor and did not have the time to prepare."

Right. Sure. Getting over the shock of finding that he had been essentially kidnapped by a tourist, Kyle's eyes narrowed as he remembered that he was still a captive, taken from his home for Lord knows what reason. "What do you want?"

The man smiled slightly as though amused as he came closer. "Now why would you think we want anything? Maybe we simply wanted to talk."

"Bullshit," Kyle said, glaring up at the man who was now close enough to touch.

The man frowned. "Language," he said warningly.

Kyle was clearly unrepentant, still glaring up at the man.

The man ignored him, going back to smiling. "But where are my manners? Here we are talking like old friends and I still haven't introduced myself." He put a hand to his chest and bowed mockingly, sunglasses nearly slipping off his face. "My name is Theodore. I'm sure you've heard of me." Straightening, he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Actually . . . no," Kyle said bluntly, eying the man with distaste. "Am I supposed to?"

The man, Theodore, seemed to blink at him from behind his sunglasses. "What? Never?"

Kyle shook his head

"Theodore," the man said as though hoping to jog his memory. "Theodore Alexander." Kyle still didn't look like he knew him so he continued, "The Man of Many Guns? The Prince of Powder?"

Looking irritated, Kyle shook his head again. "Dude, look. I've never heard of you. You can't be that important."

The man started to look mad. "Not important?" he said angrily but at a normal level of voice. "Not important!" he shouted louder. "I'm _very_ important," he said, leaning over so that he could say this to Kyle's face. "I have more power than you could ever _dream_ of having."

Theodore's face a little too close to his, Kyle drew back and blinked at the man. "Um . . . okay?" he said, hoping to placate the obviously crazy man. "Good for you."

Getting out of Kyle's face, Theodore straightened, but still looked angry. "Guards!" he shouted and two men of the men standing over by the wall came out of the shadows to stand at attention by his side. "I want you to watch him closely," he ordered the two men, "Make sure he doesn't get free. He doesn't get any food or drink unless I specifically say he does."

Both men nodded and Theodore turned back to Kyle to say angrily, "Maybe when I get back you will be a little more willing to listen to reason."

Kyle blinked. He hadn't known he'd been being unreasonable.

Theodore turned and stomped out of the room, his flip-flops flip-flopping with every step and kind of ruining his dramatic image. If a person wearing those kinds of clothes could _have_ a dramatic image. Most of the men that had followed him into the room followed him out except for the two men Theodore had specifically chosen to guard Kyle. Those two took opposite sides of the doorway and stood straight and silently at attention

Again, Kyle sighed. Looked like it going to be another long and boring wait before Theodore got over his tantrum and told Kyle what the hell was going on.

* * *

It seemed to take forever for Christophe to be contacted, the organization taking their sweet ass time to get in touch with him. Each second seemed like an hour, tortuous and long as he knew that somewhere out there Kyle was currently being held hostage by a group of rather vicious men.

Why couldn't the contact get there faster?

But finally his doorbell rang and, as he opened the door, he was left with a thin black folder containing all of the information he needed to retrieve the package that the Chinese had taken. He knew they would later trade him the package for Kyle, but he was already thinking up several plans to keep both the package and Kyle. He didn't want a weapon of mass destruction in the hands of these people and he knew that Kyle would never let them go home until the package had been given to someone trustworthy.

Sitting on the couch, he opened the folder and looked through its contents. A small slip of paper with the address of his destination, a map, and the directions for where he should go to make the trade when he was finished. He would need to make his own arrangements for how to get to China and back, but that was easy. Take out his cell phone and make a couple quick calls and he had somebody ready to pick him up in a private jet within the hour. It was good to have connections.

* * *

It had been what seemed to be hours since Theodore had left him in this room with only his two silent guards for company and Kyle was bored. He was also starting to feel hungry and he _really_ needed to go to the bathroom. And with nothing else to take his attention away from these facts the bathroom situation was just getting more and more urgent.

"Hey!" he shouted at the guards. "I need to go to the bathroom! Let me up!"

They ignored him. They'd been ignoring him for the past fifteen minutes and nothing he said seemed to make any difference.

"I mean it! I _really_ have to go to the bathroom! It's not gonna be me that'll have to clean the mess up if I don't go soon!"

They still ignored him.

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Listen to me, you bastards!"

But nothing was getting through to them. Just when Kyle was resigning himself to the fact that he would have to go where he sat, and then sit in it for the indeterminate amount of time he would be here, footsteps could be heard coming closer. Theodore appeared in the doorway, a number of thugs following him in. He was now dressed in a conservative black suit but the large sunglasses were still on his face. Apparently he liked them.

"I hear you've been having some trouble, Mr. Broflovski," he said calmly, all traces of his previous anger gone.

"I need to go to the bathroom!" Kyle said.

"Are you ready to be reasonable?"

Kyle didn't know what he was talking about. "I was never being _un_reasonable! All I said was that I didn't know who you were."

"And you were clearly lying," Theodore said smoothly, "_Every_one knows who I am."

Kyle still didn't know who he was though. He'd honestly never heard of the guy. Why would he have? He'd lived in a small hick town in Colorado all his life and, while there may have been an unusual amount of celebrities to come through that town, they'd never really had problems with gangsters, which this guy clearly was. But he did need to go to the bathroom. "Alright. Alright," Kyle said quickly, "I was lying. You caught me. I know who you are."

"Good," Theodore said, smiling and obviously pleased. "Then I suppose you can go to the bathroom if you need to so much." He turned to the people who had followed him in and selected one at random. "You." He pointed at the selected man. "Take him to the bathroom and be careful not to lose him."

The guy nodded sharply and walked over to where Kyle sat, going behind him to untie him from his chair.

Theodore looked at him threateningly. Or at least tried to look threatening. With those sunglasses, Kyle wasn't in the least bit scared. "I expect that there won't be any difficulties. You will go and come back and nothing else."

Just wanting to go already, Kyle stood up and nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Please, can we just go?"

Theodore nodded to the man that would guide Kyle to the bathroom and the guy grabbed Kyle by the arm roughly and started to drag him out the door.

They walked quickly, Kyle having to hurry to keep up, but that was okay as it would get him to the bathroom faster. He tried not to look too curious as they passed others in the hall, all walking quickly with a sense of purpose. He'd thought where he was held was just some abandoned building, maybe a warehouse, but obviously it was well in use.

He wondered what they were doing, trying to imagine what a gangster would do on an everyday basis. He knew about drug and weapons deals and about assassinations, but some of the people they passed were carrying paperwork and coffee just like at a regular office. What kind of paperwork would a gangster actually do? Maybe for corporate takeovers. Gangsters did that kind of thing nowadays, didn't they?

Finally they stopped in front of a door and the thug holding onto his arm pushed it open. Inside was a regular guy's bathroom, one like you would find at any restaurant. It had urinals and stalls and toilet paper on the ground, the whole place seeming dirty and smelling of piss. Kyle was pushed in the direction of a urinal and the thug stood back, his eyes not leaving Kyle's form.

Seeing this, Kyle blushed. "You're going to _watch_?"

The thug said nothing, just watching, and Kyle, the need to go to the bathroom stronger than ever now that he was within view of a urinal, hurried over to one of the stalls, hoping maybe he could piss without an audience in there.

The thug followed him and held the door open when Kyle tried to swing it shut. Apparently he was going to watch no matter where Kyle went.

The need to go overwhelming him, Kyle decided to just deal with it and get it over with. It wasn't so bad if he turned away.

Done, he was washing his hands, trying to think up a way to get away from the much larger and stronger thug. Now that he didn't have to worry about the bathroom he could focus on planning his escape.

* * *

"This is as far as I can go!" the pilot shouted back at Christophe, circling over the coast of Hong Kong. "I can't land!"

Christophe nodded. He'd been told this in advance and he focused on preparing to jump. Buckling the last buckle of his harness, parachute on his back, Christophe went to the door of the jet and, carefully holding on to make sure he wouldn't be sucked out, he opened it to look down on the coast of Hong Kong, double-checking to make sure there was nothing in his way. He'd need to land in the ocean, which would be tricky with a parachute as the weight of it would pull him down. So he would have to unbuckle himself once he got closer to freefall into the water.

"Ready?!" the pilot shouted back at him and Christophe, grabbing his bag of supplies, turned to give him the okay signal. The pilot turned the plane sharply and Christophe jumped.

The wind rushed by him as he fell through the air, feeling weightless. Carefully timing it, he finally pulled the release tab on his backpack and he snapped back as the parachute opened. Floating down a few couple hundred yards until he was a good twenty feet from the water, he quickly unbuckled himself from his harness, careful to keep his bag with him, and fell the rest of the way unhindered, dropping with a large splash into the water.

Swimming to the surface, he quickly started toward land, wanting to get out from underneath his parachute so that when it floated down he wasn't covered by it and drowned.

Finally he got to land, a small beach where he walked up onto shore, taking cover from the wooden dock. Shaking his head, water droplets went everywhere and he set his bag down in the sand, opening it to take out his change of clothes, kept dry by the waterproof fabric.

Quickly changing, he stuffed the rest of the stuff he would need from his bag into his many pockets and abandoned his bag to walk out onto the main beach and jog up the stairs to become a part of the crowded street, looking like just your everyday tourist and fully fading from sight.

* * *

Not being able to think up a way to get away from the large thug, Kyle was manhandled back into the room he came from, tied back to his chair, and left to alone again to rot with only his two silent guards as company.

Kyle grumbled angry things under his breath, his stomach beginning to protest the lack of food. His mom had been right in that he hadn't eaten enough today and he mourned the loss of what could have been a good meal. He _still_ didn't know what the hell was going on.

Thankfully he wasn't fully forgotten this time and a girl soon came to give him his meal. It was small and probably old, but he was hungry and so he scarfed it down rather quickly. That finished, the girl took his plate, cup, and spoon (they'd been careful not to give him anything sharp) and left Kyle to his boredom.

Eventually, it being a long day, Kyle started feeling tired. He tried to fight it, head snapping up every time he found himself drifting off, but eventually he could fight it no more and he fell asleep sitting up.

* * *

Christophe checked the small slip of paper in his hand just to make sure then looked up at the address. This was it.

Christophe went with the crowd and, disguising his efforts, slipped unnoticed into the alleyway beside the large warehouse housing his target. Being careful to stay unseen, Christophe eased his way down the alleyway and into the back of the building. Sneaking through the doors and behind several large crates, Christophe slipped silently from behind one crate to the other, making his way toward the voices at the center of the room.

"You idiots!" a man shouted in English with the accompanying sound of someone being smacked and falling to the ground. "I specifically told you red! I wanted red boxes not brown! Red!"

"But – but boss! These _hide_ better. Look! You can barely even notice them."

"Do you think I care if they hide better?! Does this look like a man who cares?! No! Brown is ugly! You've made this room hideous!" The sound of another smack and another body hitting the floor. "You idiots have ruined the entire plan! Now what are we going to do with all these boxes?!"

"May – maybe we could paint them?" a voice spoke up timidly.

"And who's going to do that?! You! I don't trust you to tie your own shoes without smacking yourself in the face and you think I'm going to let the entire fate of this organization rest on your painting abilities?!"

"But – but boss! Maybe . . . maybe they _like_ brown," another voice said.

"Moron! _Nobody_ likes brown! Do you go buy your girls flowers and dresses and say, "Oh, I know, I'll get her _brown_"? No!"

Christophe had finally gotten to the edge of the lighted area and he peeked through the crates to see four men cowering before a fifth and rather short man, two of them actually on the ground protecting their heads.

These were the men he would have to steal from. Now if only he could figure out where they put the package. It would probably help out a lot if he knew what the package actually looked like, but what could he do? He would just have to deal.

* * *

TBC?


	5. Ch 4: A Job Well Done

I wanted to say thank you to Anonymous Void for reviewing. Thank you!

* * *

-

Chapter #4: A Job Well Done

-

Three figures stood before a desk and the man seated there. Two wore conservative business suits, one of them also wearing a pair of ridiculous sunglasses, and the third wore all black, a leather jacket and black jeans. The man behind the desk wore his own suit, looking almost debonair despite his obvious age. A plate of buffalo wings, half eaten, sat on his desk in front of him and the man wiped his hands with an expensively made napkin as he prepared to speak.

"Has he left yet?" the older man asked, not looking up at who he was speaking to.

"Hours ago, Father," the man wearing all black answered. "He should be there by now."

The older man nodded, pleased but still not looking up. "And our guest?"

This time the one wearing the ridiculous sunglasses answered. "Finally behaving himself. He's gone to sleep."

"Good," the older man said and nodded again, finally looking up to address the last figure. "Then everything is going according to plan?"

"Perfectly, Father," the last figure, the one in the business suit said. "You should have it back by night fall."

The older man seemed to smile. "Good," he said again and then waved a hand at them dismissively. "Then you are dismissed."

The three men nodded gracefully at this and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Theodore?" the older man said as the man in the glasses got to the door. The requested man turned back to face him.

"Yes, Father?" he answered.

"Take off those ridiculous glasses," the older man said.

Looking a little embarrassed at having been reprimanded in front of his siblings, Theodore nodded his head and took off the glasses. "Yes, Father."

* * *

Kyle woke up with a painful crick in his neck brought on from sleeping sitting up. Wishing he could have his hands free to rub his neck, he raised his head and blinked at the room tiredly. He hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep.

"Ah, Mr. Broflovski. I see you are finally awake." The room suddenly flooded with light and Kyle quickly shut his eyes. Ow. Opening his eyes warily, he had to wait for his eyes to adjust and when they did he was left looking at Theodore again, who had once again come with his group of back-up men but was no longer wearing the sunglasses.

"Oh," Kyle said, somehow not surprised. "You."

That seemed to make Theodore a bit angry. "You will look at me with excitement! You should feel _privileged_ to have someone as powerful as me here to speak to you."

"Look, dude," Kyle said, shaking his head tiredly, "I still don't have a clue what the fuck's going on. Why am I even here?"

Theodore calmed down a little. "I suppose you should understand a little bit about what has brought you here."

Kyle looked back up at the man. Was he actually going to get some answers?

"It all started with a plan," Theodore began, looking off into space dramatically. "We would sell our goods to the highest bidder and carefully keep the identities of those who dealt with us a secret. Oh yes. But they didn't like that." Obviously remembering something, his face darkened. "They thought we were monopolizing the trade and so they broke into our buildings—just as we were doing business!—and they stole from us several of our most loyal employees and a number of our best merchandise. But that was inconsequential." Looking away dramatically, Theodore waved an arm, signifying it didn't matter. "They could have those. We didn't care. No. But in their greed they had dared to take our loving father's most prized possession." Looking forward again, Theodore fisted his hand dramatically, fully into his tale. "My brothers and I promised we would get it back, but in doing so we would need help. And so we went to the best in the business." Theodore finally looked to Kyle as he said dramatically, "To a man called 'the Mole'."

Oh, Kyle thought in sudden understanding. These people must have been Christophe's newest client. The one he wouldn't talk about. That cleared up how Christophe may have gotten involved, but why was Kyle there?

Theodore continued on, his face darkening again in memory. "But when we went to meet this 'the Mole' he refused to help us with our simple request." Theodore turned and began to pace as he talked. "It seemed we would need something to help change his mind. Earlier surveillance had informed us of a boyfriend that the Mole seemed quite fond of." Theodore stopped walking and turned sharply to Kyle. "Which brings us to you," he said, "You were taken as our guest and, sure enough, 'the Mole' has changed his mind and kindly taken on our case."

So they'd kidnapped him to make Christophe do their dirty work? Kyle's eyes narrowed. "You bastard."

Theodore frowned at this. "It was a simple request made with the best of intentions. He'd had no reason to refuse us in the first place. By taking you we were simply making things right."

"And so now I have to sit here and wait for Chris—the Mole to come back?!" Kyle demanded, almost using Christophe's real name before remembering Christophe's reasons for having a code name in the first place.

Theodore looked pleased, probably thinking up countless way he could use this little slip-up to his advantage. "Chris? The Mole's name is Chris?"

Shit. He'd hoped they wouldn't pick up on that. Time for some damage control. Maybe if he led them down a different path. Kyle tried to look angry and like he was cursing himself for mentioning it. "It's Christian," he finally corrected resentfully.

"Well?" Theodore turned and demanded of his goons. "What are you waiting for? Somebody write that down!" Two or three thugs hurried off to get paper and a pen.

"It doesn't matter if you know his real name," Kyle continued as though he had actually been telling the truth, glaring at Theodore rebelliously. "He's going to come back for me and kill you."

Turning back to him, Theodore smiled, not looking in the least bit scared. "Oh little boy," he said condescendingly, "You can't even imagine how powerful I am. It doesn't matter how good he is. He's not getting anywhere near me."

Kyle scowled, not liking that answer. But he didn't believe it either. It was Theodore that didn't understand. Christophe wasn't good. He was amazing. And he would be coming for Kyle. Kyle knew it.

* * *

"Idiots! Do I have to do everything around here?!" the short man asked angrily then pointed off in the other direction, shouting, "I want these out of here by tomorrow! I don't care how you do it, just do it! I'll be in my office _fixing_" here he glared at his men harder, looking around the circle to make sure everyone got equal amounts of his anger, "this mess you've made. Now go!" The men scattered, the two men on the ground hurrying to their feet and quickly following the others out, almost tripping over each other in their haste.

Once they were gone, the leader sighed and rubbed his brow wearily, saying something under his breath that Christophe couldn't hear. Then he turned and started to walk off. Having decided that following the boss would be the best thing to do if he ever hoped to find the package, Christophe quickly and silently followed.

They arrived at a small, but well organized, office, hidden away in the back of the warehouse. Unable to get inside without being seen, Christophe hid behind a crate and watched as the short man entered and closed the door behind him. It was possible that something in there could point him to the package. Some schematics or plans or something. He'd need to search that office.

Making sure he was in a safe position, Christophe settled in for what could be a long wait.

* * *

"But that doesn't matter," Theodore said, waving off all ideas of Christophe killing him and getting back to business. "I came to see how you were doing and possibly offer a trade of sorts. You tell us the Mole's name and address and we let you go free."

Disgusted with him, Kyle glared at the man. "And why would you think I'd give you that? You can take your deal and shove it up your ass."

Theodore seemed to choose to ignore the better part of that answer, turning to Kyle with a confused frown. "But you've already given us his name. All we need is his address and you are free to go."

"Go to hell," Kyle replied, not giving them what they wanted.

That made Theodore angry and he glared. "_Fine_," he said, "Then since you simply refuse to be reasonable I'm afraid that your stay with us has just been extended indefinitely." He turned to his goons, not choosing one specifically as he said angrily, "Untie him and take him to the room. Don't let him escape." And then he turned and stomped from the room.

Three of the goons lining the walls stepped up to untie Kyle, one going behind his back to actually untie the ropes and two waiting for the ropes to loosen before immediately grabbing his arms and starting to drag him from the room. Wondering where he was going, but deciding it couldn't be worse than sitting in that uncomfortable wooden chair for hours on end and knowing that he would never actually be able to rip himself free, Kyle put up only a token struggle as he was dragged off.

They ended up in front of a plain wooden door, indistinguishable from all the other doors just like it in the hallway. Opening the door, the two thugs holding his arms threw him in the room, the door shutting quickly behind him. He was dismayed to hear the sound of the lock clicking into place almost immediately after the door closed.

Still, that didn't mean he couldn't escape and Kyle turned to the window. Tugging at the window to see if it would open, Kyle was discouraged to find that it wouldn't move. Not giving up, he experimentally knocked on the glass and tried to figure out what it would take to break it. Looking around the bare room, he found a cot, a ratty looking blanket, a toilet, and a chair. He could maybe use the chair.

But attempting to move the chair proved fruitless as it had apparently been bolted to the ground. That thing wasn't moving anytime soon. Closer inspection of the cot found this to be true there also.

Disheartened, Kyle plopped down onto the cot and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl.

He knew Christophe wouldn't mind, but he refused to make the other boy come rescue him like he was some kind of damsel in distress. He was _not_ some helpless little girl. But how could he get free?

And then he noticed the air duct. He didn't have a chance of being able to reach it without some kind of stool or chair to stand on—and it had already been discovered that the chair wasn't moving anytime soon—but it had also given him an idea.

Quickly he went to see what kind of screw had bolted the chair to the ground and was happy to find it was one of those big ones, with a single groove on the top, usually for the screwdriver. He couldn't see what kind of screw held the air duct together, but hopefully it was similar.

His hands went to his pockets, going through them almost desperately. Had they taken it from him? His hands hit something and he smiled, pulling out a dime and two pennies. He would only need the dime.

Now if only this would work.

* * *

Just like Christophe predicted it was a while before he had the chance to search the leader's office. But then it came.

"Boss! Boss!" One of the many lackeys hanging around the warehouse came running into view and Christophe got ready to move if he had to. "Boss!" The lackey knocked frantically on the door.

"What?!" the boss eader shouted, throwing the door open to show that his hair was a mess and he had red lines on the side of his face. He'd obviously been sleeping. "How many times have I told you? When I'm in my office you don't bother me! I'm doing important business!"

"But boss!" the lackey said. "You have to come see this! Quick!"

Obviously not too pleased with having been woken up, the short man narrowed his eyes, but then he grumbled and stepped out of his office, closing the door behind him. "This had better be good," he warned the lackey.

The lackey nodded frantically. "It is! It is!" He gestured for his boss to follow him and the two walked off.

"What is it?" Christophe heard the short man ask suspiciously and then they were out of hearing range.

Taking this for what it was—his chance—Christophe quickly went to the door and jimmied it open. Slipping inside the well-organized office, Christophe began looking around. He looked in filing cabinets, through papers, inside boxes, and then he came to the desk drawers. The top two proved to hold nothing but office supplies, but the bottom larger drawer was locked. Curious, Christophe easily picked this lock and opened the drawer. Inside, resting on a pile of miscellaneous crap, was a small box, incredibly thin and with a large sticker proclaiming it 'Property of the Alexander Company. Do Not Touch.'

This must be the package. A little smaller than Christophe had imagined a weapon of mass destruction could be, but then he hadn't exactly expected it to be mammoth either. They had seemed to think he would be able to carry it out by hand.

"Hey! What are you doing in my office?!"

Christophe's head snapped up. The boss was back and was standing in the doorway, looking angry. Quickly, Christophe grabbed the package and shoved it in a pocket.

"Guards!" the boss yelled. "Guards!"

Christophe wasn't going to wait around for someone to answer the man and ran at the door, pushing the leader to the ground and running for it.

"Somebody stop him!"

The amount of time it took to for the Chinese lackeys to respond was just enough time for Christophe to get behind a large crate, taking shelter from the rain of bullets that were soon coming in his direction. Taking his own gun from the holster around his thigh, Christophe shot back. Hearing an answering cry of pain, he smiled blood-thirstily. He'd gotten somebody.

That, of course, didn't mean the others would stop shooting at him and the rain of bullets continued, broken only by the need to refill ammo. Ducking to avoid another round, Chritophe darted out from behind his crate to gain cover from another crate, this one closer to the door.

And so the fight continued. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Christophe was fully into the moment. He loved his job.

Finally getting to the door, he stood up and shot the last of his ammo in all directions, happily hearing an answering cry of pain coming from the right. And then he ducked out into the street, running down the alleyway and into the crowd.

The streets of Hong Kong crowded with people, here he slowed down and tried to blend in with the crowd, walking quickly. Looking back casually, he could see some thugs trying to give chase and Christophe ducked into another alley, deciding to go a more circuitous route back to the beach.

He easily lost his pursuers in the winding streets of Hong Kong and an hour later, once he was sure they were truly gone, Christophe returned to the beach. Getting out his cell phone, he placed a quick call and then sat to wait for the boat to arrive. Now he just had to drop the package off and go and get Kyle.

TBC


	6. Ch 5: Back at Home

I wanted to say thanks to Griffen 'Poody' Maxwell for reviewing. It's good to know _somebody's_ liking this thing. Did that sound mean? I didn't mean it. And this one is a little short. Sorry.

* * *

-

Chapter #5: Back at Home

-

Looking miserable, Stan sighed heavily and slumped over in his seat. He and Kenny were in the local Shakey's, not really doing anything and bored out of their minds. "I'm so _bored_," he complained. Next to him was an empty plate, full of crumbs, and in the middle of the table was the last of the pizza the two of them had shared, just sitting there going cold.

Kenny propped his head up in a hand and made an absentminded noise, not really listening to his friend as he watched the couple of cute girls over by the wall. He was half-heartedly thinking about abandoning Stan to his boredom to try to see if he could maybe score a little. Maybe that would cure his own boredom.

"Man, where's Cartman when you need him?" Stan continued to complain, not noticing that Kenny really could care less about what he was saying. "He was always getting into something."

The girls standing up to leave, Kenny threw out all plans and turned back to Stan. "He called me yesterday," he said mildly, as if this was normal.

Stan blinked and looked up, curious. "Yeah? Why?"

"Wanted to brag some more about him getting into some nice school out of state and me being too poor to go anywhere but South Park."

"Yeah. That sounds like him," Stan grumbled, sitting up and crossing his arms over his chest, remembering. "Lucky bastard."

"Where's Kyle?" Kenny asked dully, tracing shapes with one finger on the wooden tabletop.

Looking frustrated, Stan shrugged. "Who knows? I called him but he didn't pick up. I think he's off somewhere with Christophe." Saying this, Stan made a face.

"You still don't like him?" Kenny asked, looking up from his shapes.

"Eh, he's okay." Stan shrugged, looking down at the table. "I just don't like how much time Kyle spends with him. You'd think they were connected at the hip or something."

Kenny snorted. "Look who's talking."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just, didn't you two spend, like, all of last week together? And most of the week before that? And then you had that project in Chemistry so you spent another week doing that. And—

"Alright, alright," Stan said, waving his hands to stop the flow of words, "So maybe Kyle's not ignoring me. Shut up. Either way, he is now."

"I know," Kenny said, suddenly getting a mischievous look on his face. "Why don't we go over there and break up their little love fest. Maybe we'll be lucky and catch them in the middle of something. Kyle's so hot when he's flustered."

"Dude. Really," Stan said, giving the blond a disgusted look. "Shut up about Kyle being hot. He's _Kyle_."

"I know," Kenny said, a lecherous smile growing on his face, "That's the point. He's fucking hot. And Christophe's not too bad either. What I wouldn't give to see them go at it."

"Uh," Stan said and looked away, looking even more disgusted. "_Dude._ Please. Now I'm gonna be picturing them together for the rest of the day and I don't think my stomach can take it."

Kenny laughed at him. "You are _way_ too straight, man. You don't know what you're missing."

Stan just shook his head, trying his hardest to keep the images from coming into his mind. "Come on," he finally said when this turned out to be harder than he'd thought. "Let's just go see if they're home."

"Let me just get a take-out box for this," Kenny said, gesturing at the pizza in the middle of the table.

"Whatever, man."

.

* * *

Stan and Kenny got to Kyle and Christophe's apartment and were surprised to find it surrounded in police tape and curious onlookers

"OK people, move along," Officer Barbrady said, trying to clear the area of the curious people who usually flock to crime scenes. "Nothing to see here."

"Excuse me," Stan said, trying to get past the group of people blocking his way. "Excuse me, sir?" he called as he got to the front of the crowd.

"Yes?" Officer Barbrady answered, only half-paying attention. "Hey!" he said suddenly, turning on one of the people in the crowd. "You don't go near that tape."

"Can you tell us what happened here?" Stan asked loudly, still trying to get the old cop's attention.

"No. No, there's nothing to see," Officer Barbrady replied, making a shooing motion. "Move along now."

"Hey, man," Stan said, standing his ground. He wasn't going anywhere without some answers. "Our _friend _lives here. What the hell's going on?" Kenny backed him up, his blue eyes narrowing.

Now interested, Officer Barbrady turned to them. "Which one's your friend—the victim or the boyfriend?"

"I don't know," Stan said, "Which one's which? Our friend's name is Kyle."

"You mean, Brof – Brof– Officer Barbrady looked down, having trouble remembering the name. "How do you say that kid's name?" he mumbled to himself, "Broflaski?" Thinking he'd gotten the right name, Officer Barbrady looked up at Stan and Kenny and nodded. "Broflaski. That kid's the victim."

"Broflovski. And what do you mean he's the victim?" Stan demanded anxiously, "What _happened_?"

Officer Barbrady quickly summed up the situation. "Kidnapping. The boyfriend's nowhere in sight, so we think it might be him."

Kenny looked shocked and a little confused. "Christophe?" Then, frowning, Kenny shook his head. "No way, man. Christophe'd never do that."

Officer Barbrady turned of Kenny. "You know the boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I know him," Kenny said defiantly. "And he'd never kidnap Kyle." Thinking this over again and remembering a certain incident, Kenny amended that statement. "Well okay, there was that one time he took Kyle on a surprise trip to the Bahamas without telling anyone, but other then that no. He'd never kidnap Kyle."

"Well, then you must not know him as well as you think. That boy's a dangerous criminal, you hear?" Officer Barbrady told Kenny intently, "If you see him you send him straight to me. Don't be going to any heroics and try to take him on yourself."

"I somehow doubt Christophe will attack us," Stan said drolly.

Officer Barbrady now turned to him and said, very self-importantly, "You just trust me. Barbrady knows what he's talking about. That boy's Dangerous with a capital D."

"Riiiiight," was all Stan replied, rolling his eyes and turning away. "C'mon dude," he said to Kenny. "Maybe we can ask Kyle's mom if she knows what's going on."

Kenny nodded and turned to follow Stan out of the apartment building, pushing past the group of people still trying to look past the police tape.

"Hey!" they heard Officer Barbrady say as they were walking away. "I said move along, people. Nothing to see here."

* * *

_Ding – dong. Ding – dong – ding._

"Hi, Mrs. Broflovski," Stan said as the woman opened the door to her house. She was dressed normally, but clutched in her hand was a white handkerchief and her eyes were suspiciously red. "We just found out about Kyle and wanted to know what happened. Are you okay?" Stan asked, noticing her red eyes.

"Oh, you're such sweet boys," Sheila replied then stepped back to allow them to enter. "Come on in. I'll tell you what happened."

Kenny and Stan followed her into the living room of the house where Mr. Broflovski and Ike were seated on the couch watching TV.

"Oh, hello, boys," Gerald said dully, looking up as they entered. Ike made a noise in greeting, but didn't turn away from the TV. Now twelve, he had grown a good amount and was almost up to Kyle's chin, but otherwise he was the same.

"Sit down. Sit down," Sheila urged and the two boys found a seat, Stan on the other end of the couch from the father and son and Kenny on the floor near his feet.

"So was he really kidnapped?" Kenny asked, looking to Mrs. Broflovski for the answer.

Sitting in the armchair, Sheila nodded with a small sniff. "My poor bubee was taken right from under me. That _boy" _she said with a scowl, some anger replacing the sadness, "just let them take him away. Just like that!" she said, making a sharp gesture in disbelief. "He just let them take him away." She sniffed again and wiped at her eyes with the handkerchief. Reaching over, Gerald patted her consolingly on the arm.

"You mean Christophe?" Stan asked with a raised brow, somehow finding the story hard to believe.

"Do not say that name in my house!" Sheila snapped, glaring at Stan. "That boy is _forbidden_. When Kyle gets back he's moving right back home. I don't care what he says. He's not living with that French _you-know-what_ anymore. I won't allow it! Not if this is what a relationship with him brings!"

Kenny and Stan shared a look at that. Kyle wouldn't like that.

"So you were there?" Kenny asked instead of replying to that, turning back to the main point.

Sheila nodded and looked down, clutching the handkerchief tighter in her hand. "It was horrible," she said, no doubt remembering, "Some man dressed all in black jumped out and grabbed Kyle right in front of me. Then that boy showed up and started talking— Here she looked up in angry disbelief. "Talking! Can you believe it?" Scowling, she shook her head and went back to the story. "He started _talking_ to the man and I tried to call the police, but another man threw a _knife _at me and destroyed the phone."

Stan stared at her in disbelief. "An actual knife?"

She nodded.

"How'd you get away?" Kenny asked, interested in the answer.

She sniffed again and wiped at her eyes again. "They weren't interested in me. They only wanted Kyle so they left after grabbing him." Remembering something, she scowled harder and glared at nothing. "And then that _boy_ threw me out! He actually threw me out of my own son's apartment!"

Kenny looked down and hid his amused smirk at this. It wouldn't do to have Kyle's mom notice it. She'd probably only start to rage at him.

Amused himself, Stan fought to keep a smile from crossing his face and carefully kept his face free of all emotion, only nodding in sympathy as Sheila continued.

"And he wasn't doing anything about Kyle being kidnapped! He just started playing on his computer! The nerve! I always knew he was no good. Right from the moment I saw him. I said to myself, "Sheila, now there is boy who'll break your son's heart." That's what I said. And wouldn't you know it! I was right."

"Well, we just went by there and Christophe's nowhere in sight," Stan told her. "The police think he's the one who did it."

"Good," Sheila said, nodding in satisfaction. "Serves him right, getting my bubee messed up in his world. I hope they put him in jail."

Stan and Kenny shared another look. They'd talked on the way over and decided that if Kyle really was kidnapped and Christophe was nowhere in sight then it really was more likely that Christophe had gone to save him. They couldn't imagine that the mercenary would just let Kyle be taken just like that. But it wouldn't be good to say any of that to Mrs. Broflovski. She had her opinions and anyone who went against them, especially when they concerned her sons, was to be throttled.

Either way, Stan hoped that Kyle was okay and that Christophe came back with Kyle soon. Things weren't looking good for the mercenary. The police were out to get him and Mrs. Broflovski was angry. It wouldn't take much for her to actually be on the hunt for blood.

TBC?


	7. Ch 6: Negotiations

I wanted to thank those that reviewed. Thank you!

* * *

-

Chapter #6: Negotiations

-

Sadly, Kyle's plan didn't work. The groove on the top of the screw proved to be too shallow for the penny to successfully turn the screw. He tried using his nails next, but that too proved fruitless.

So Kyle sat back on the ground and pulled in a knee to touch his chest, resting his head on it with a sigh. Now what did he do? Maybe he could wait for them to feed him again and escape then? Well maybe if the person bringing his food wasn't one of those gigantic guard thugs he'd been seeing. Or else he could swallow his pride and just wait for Christophe to come get him.

Thinking this, Kyle's face twisted up in irritation. No! He refused to play the damsel in distress. He was a guy and he was perfectly capable of escaping on his own. He just needed a better plan.

Kyle frowned at his shoes. Of course, coming up with a better plan was proving to be a little difficult. Maybe he just needed more time to think.

But hours later, now seated on the cot after the floor had gotten too cold and uncomfortable, Kyle was still without a plan. They had brought him lunch, or at least what passed for lunch, but the person bringing the meal had been this huge block of muscle. There had been no way that Kyle, as skinny and short as he was, could manage to knock him out. Christophe _had_ taught him some self-defense moves and some neat tricks to knock a person unconscious with one finger, but Kyle would need to be able to _reach_ the pressure point in order for that to work and he had still been at least two heads shorter than the guy, never mind trying to actually get close enough without being beaten.

So he had gone back to trying to think up a plan and nothing was coming to mind. He was about ready to tear his hair out in frustration and boredom. There wasn't much to do or look at in the small and barren room.

Angrily collapsing back on the cot, Kyle stared at the ceiling with a scowl. This was pathetic! Wasn't he supposed to be the smart one in the group? He should be able to think something up, but the best he could come up with was pretending to have changed his mind about telling them 'the Mole's' address and escaping that way. Of course, he was almost positive that they wouldn't let him go free until they were sure he was telling the truth and so that plan was out the window.

Argh!

* * *

It was hours later when the door opened again, this time allowing Theodore into the room. He was without his usual guards, but he was still looking extremely self-confidant in spite of this fact.

"And how have you been doing, Mr. Broflovski?" he asked with an annoying smirk.

Sitting up on the cot, Kyle scowled at him. "How do you think?"

"Wonderful," Theodore said with a growing smile, obviously ignoring his actual words. "Then I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that your little boyfriend is on his way with our package as we speak."

"Yay," Kyle muttered sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

Seeming amused by this, Theodore raised a brow. "I had somehow imagined you would be more pleased by this information."

"At least it'll get me away from you," Kyle muttered to himself, annoyed and trying to see the positive.

This seemed to make Theodore angry. "You should be pleased that I come speak to you at all!"

Kyle glared at the man. "What could possibly make me glad to see you?"

Theodore narrowed his eyes. "Then I suppose you _don't_ want to be there when your dear Christian comes to collect."

Not really caring, Kyle shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. I'm getting outta here either way."

His indifference only seemed to make Theodore even angrier. "Not if I don't allow it!"

Kyle's eyes snapped up to meet Theodore's angry face. "What?!"

Theodore laughed. "Ha! Now you see my power!"

"Dude," Kyle said in exasperation, unable to believe this guy. Was he seriously getting a power trip from this? "Listen to yourself. You're getting your jollies by taunting a kid. You have to be at least twice my age. Don't you have other stuff to do? Like, maybe, running this whole mafia gig?"

Theodore sniffed indignantly and swept his hair back. "I let my lesser brothers deal with the dirty work."

"And what's taunting me? Isn't that "dirty work"?"

"Yes, I think I've changed my mind," Theodore said, ignoring his last question. "I don't think we will be handing you over quite yet." Here, he smiled at Kyle. "After all, we still need you to give us that address."

"Dude, I'm not gonna tell you guys my address. I happen to _like_ living there and I don't really wanna have to move."

"Ah! So we should be looking under your name, should we?" Theodore asked brightly. "Thank you. You have been quite helpful." And then he turned and quickly left the room.

Kyle paused, realizing too late what had just happened. "_Dammit_!"

* * *

Christophe walked into the large compound, two thugs at his sides, supposedly escorting him to the meeting place. He eyed them speculatively and frowned at the apparent insult to his skills. He could take them. Easy.

"Ah, Christian. So good of you to join us," spoke the business man with an oily smile, stepping into the light as Christophe walked into the large and dim room. He and the scruffy man from their first meeting were on the opposite side of the room, the scruffy man still standing in the shadows, the huge forms of their guard-thugs at their sides.

Christophe looked at him in some confusion. Why were they calling him Christian?

Taking his confusion for something else, the man looked pleased. "Yes, we know your name. Your little boyfriend was quite willing to tell us all we needed to know. We just needed to give him the right . . . , well, I suppose you could call it persuasion."

This made Christophe really come to attention, not really caring about the name anymore. "What did you do to him?"

The man tried to look innocent. "Nothing. Nothing," he said, waving a hand, "We just had some of our boys here have a little . . . "talk" with him."

Christophe turned to look at the guards that had escorted him into the room again and then at the other thugs hanging along the walls. They were huge. Dwarfing even Christophe and with muscles on their muscles. He had no doubt that he could take them easily, but Kyle . . . ? And if he had been tied up then he'd really had no chance.

Christophe scowled dangerously. Oh, he would enjoy tearing this company apart.

"I have your package," he said angrily, pulling out the small box and holding it up. "Now where's Kyle?" He wasn't anywhere in the room, that was obvious.

"Give us the package and we'll show you to him," the scruffy man dressed all in black said, stepping into the light of the room and holding out a hand as though Christophe would actually give it to him.

"No. You give me Kyle and I give you the package."

"I'm afraid we can't exactly— the business man started and at that moment another form entered the room, walking quickly up to the business man to whisper something in his ear.

"Ah. My mistake," the business man said with another smile, "Please. Wait here and we'll get the boy for you." He turned to the person that had just entered the room, another man that looked eerily similar to the two other men and was wearing a smart business suit, and said something in a quiet voice that Christophe couldn't hear.

Christophe scowled distrustfully at them, not quite trusting that they were actually going to give Kyle back to him.

But then the newly arrived man left and, a few minutes later, returned with Kyle, who looked annoyed but none the worse for wear. They held him on the other side of the room, out of reach until Christophe grudgingly gave them the package and then grabbed Kyle from the thug holding him to drag him back to his side of the room and pat him down for injuries.

"Christian!" Kyle whispered furiously. "Christian, stop that!

Pausing his search in confusion, Christophe leaned in close to ask quietly, "Why are you calling me Christian?"

Kyle glared at him and whispered back angrily, "Because that's what they think your name is! Now will you stop patting me already?!"

Christophe frowned and looked down at Kyle's uninjured body. "Zey said zey tortured you."

Kyle sighed, annoyed. "All they did was annoy me and then bore me with some long-winded pointless speeches about how powerful they were."

"Right." Christophe turned to glare at the men again.

"Now if you're quite sure that he's alright we'll have some men take you back to the front. And . . ." the business man paused to smile, "we _thank_ you with all our hearts for doing business with us."

In his arms, Kyle snorted and Christophe looked down at him questioningly.

Kyle waved him off. "Nothing. Let's just go."

The business man gestured for two of the thugs by the wall to accompany them and they were out the door in minutes.

"You're sure zey didn't hurt you?" Christophe asked Kyle, looking down at the smaller boy again, but really paying attention to the two large thugs by their side..

"Yes," Kyle said, annoyed, "I'm sure. I— Kyle stopped as Christophe caught his eye and jerked his head to the right. Catching on, Kyle continued. "Well they didn't feed me, really. And this one guy kept coming in to taunt me. He was really annoying." Christophe nodded his head sympathetically, acting like the caring boyfriend. "And they almost didn't let me go," Kyle continued. "They wanted me to stay in order to tell them our address." Kyle paused. "Actually, remind me to tell you about that later."

"Right," Christophe said and then suddenly swung out his leg, sweeping the guard to his left off his feet. The man fell down with a loud thud and a grunt and Christophe turned easily to grab the gun out of the other guard's hands and kick him in the face. This second thug went down and Christophe kneed him in the face, breaking his nose, and then pounded his head against the concrete floor, knocking him out. By this time the second thug had gotten to his feet and taken out his gun and Christophe turned with a roundhouse kick, knocking the gun flying, and then punched the guy in the face. This not having much of an effect, the second thug tried to grab Christophe, but Christophe easily ducked out of the way, getting behind the guy and kicking him into the wall. Holding him there by with a hand, Christophe twisted his arm until it was at an extremely painful angle, almost to the breaking point, and shoved the first guard's gun into his back. "Where do zey keep the weapons?"

"I – I don't know," the guy stammered and Christophe twisted his arm again. "Ah! I mean. It's down that corridor. You take a left and then a right and it should be in the huge storehouse."

"Zank you," Christophe said and then took the gun away from the guy's back and brought it down on the guy's head, knocking him unconscious. "Zat should give us a head start. Are you . . ." Christophe paused, actually looking at Kyle. "Actually maybe you should go. Leave zis t' me."

Kyle glared at him, not moving an inch. "I've already got his gun," he said lifting the said weapon of the second guard that he had quickly retrieved after it had gone flying. "I'm coming with."

"Kyle . . . You don't . . ."

"I'm coming with," Kyle repeated as slowly and as calmly as he could, appreciating that Christophe wanted to keep him safe, but not needing it. He wanted to get his own revenge on these bastards anyway. "What are we doing?"

Christophe looked at him for another moment then said, "We need t' get zat box back. Eet contains a weapon of mass destruction."

Kyle nodded. "Right. Then let's go."

* * *

They went down that corridor then went left and then right and there was the weapons storehouse just like the thug had said. Quickly ducking inside they went to work on finding that little box.

An hour later they were still looking.

"It's not here!" Kyle said, coming up behind Christophe, gun still clutched tightly in his hand.

"Eet 'as t' be 'ere," Christophe muttered, looking through an open crate of hand guns, high up on a pile of crates. Kyle had to speak loudly if he wanted to be heard and he didn't want to risk doing that too much.

"Christophe those guys should be waking up soon," Kyle said, starting to get worried. He hadn't thought this would take that long. "We need to leave."

"We _'ave_ t' get that box," Christophe said, turning to look down at him. "Or do you want anozer country t' 'ave an atomic bomb just waiting kill you Americans?"

"Look," Kyle said irritably. "Maybe they just haven't brought it in here yet. Maybe they still have it with them."

Chrstophe scowled. "An' wot would you 'ave us do? Wander around lost just 'oping we come across it?"

Kyle scowled up at him in return. "Well I don't see you coming up with a better plan."

Which was true. "Fine," Christophe snapped, shutting the crate and hoping down to the ground. "We wander."

* * *

"What do you mean they're gone?!" the business man shouted at the two thugs groveling at his feet. "Go find them!" The two thugs immediately hopped to, jumping up and nearly tripping over each other in their haste to leave the room.

The businessman turned to the rest of the thugs in the room to say, "I want those two found yesterday, people! They cannot be left to wander this facility alone. Go!" he shouted and the other thugs quickly left the room, pushing and shoving each other in their haste to reach the door.

The majority of the people in the room now gone, the business man made a frustrated sound and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm surrounded by morons."

"Now Tom, you know this isn't my fault."

"Oh shut up, Theodore! I'm trying to think. What could they possibly want?"

The scruffy man and Theodore shrugged. They didn't have a clue.

"Have you checked the weapons room?" the now named business man asked.

"I'll send some guys over there now," Theodore replied, getting out his cell phone and going off in a corner to call someone, presumably the head of the guards.

Tom sucked in a deep breath and released it through clenched teeth. This was just what he needed right before Father was going to retire. This wouldn't look good. And he's been _so_ close to being named the successor. Now his idiot brother Theodore would be the one in charge. They'd be run into the ground before next June.

"You need to calm down," the scruffy man said gruffly.

"This isn't going to go away, Trevor," Tom said, "Now that they've gotten into the base who knows what they can do. Why, oh why, was Father too cheap to invest in quality, highly trained, guards?"

Trevor shrugged. "You know Father. He does what he wants."

"Right." Tom took another deep breath, preparing himself. "Well I'm going to go tell him the news."

Trevor raised a brow. "Good luck."

"Yes. I'll need it."

* * *

Sneaking around wasn't nearly as hard as Christophe had imagined it would be. Their security was laughable. Everyone was running around like a chicken with his head chopped off looking for him and Kyle and they'd been so rushed that nobody had thought to look in plain sight. Dress the part and act like you know what you're doing and nobody questioned you. They'd found a huge storehouse of clothing, exactly like what everyone else in the compound was wearing. Still it was better to stay out of everyone's way so they had been ducking guards for at least a half an hour.

"These pants are too big," Kyle hissed back at him, trying to hold them up as they stopped at the next corner and Christophe poked his head around the corner to check if it was clear.

"I can't 'elp you zere. You'll just 'ave t' make due," he replied, not really paying attention, more concerned with keeping them safe. "Now 'urry," he said, ushering Kyle forward.

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle grumbled, walking ahead. "You know this is a lot more boring then I thought it would be."

"Quiet," Christophe hissed, stopping in the middle of the hall and listening carefully. Whatever he heard it wasn't good. "Quick. In here." The two of them hurried down the next hallway and into the nearest office.

Seeing where they were though, Kyle stopped. It was a rather nice office, very classy and sophisticated compared to all the other rooms. On the desk were piles of paper and, perched precariously on top of this, was the box, a huge 'Property of the Alexander Company' sticker stuck on the top.

"Christophe!" Kyle hissed trying to get his boyfriend's attention. Christophe was still at the door, peeking out the small space between the door and the doorframe into the corridor. "Christophe!" Kyle said again, when Christophe didn't answer.

"Wot?" Christophe snapped, not turning away from the door. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Christophe," Kyle said yet again, walking closer to the desk to grab the box and bring it over to the other boy. "Is this it?"

"Wot?" Christophe snapped, finally turning around. Looking down, he saw what was in Kyle's hands and grabbed it. "It is!"

"Hey!" Kyle exclaimed, feeling a little annoyed. He'd been the one to find it, after all.

"Good," Christophe said, ignoring him. "Zen we can leave."

"Don't you wanna see what's in it?" Kyle asked, looking at the box in Christophe's hands curiously.

"It's a weapon," Christophe replied. "You've seen one, you've seen zem all."

"Well I wanna see," Kyle said and grabbed the box out of Christophe's hands, turning so that his back was to his boyfriend.

"Hey! Give zat back!" Christophe cried, trying to reach around Kyle and grab it from him.

Kyle easily ducked and dodged his hand, keeping the box out of reach. There was no seal or lock so it was easy to open, but when Kyle did his mouth dropped open in shock. "Oh my God," he breathed.

TBC


End file.
